


sorry

by a_fictional_character



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Not Steve Friendly, Songfic, based on a halsey song, but guess what tony won't take his shit, first fic I'm really nervous thanks, steve is a possessive bastard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23425396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_fictional_character/pseuds/a_fictional_character
Summary: //I've missed your calls for months it seemsDon't realise how mean I can be//It's better this way.--just a short post-civil war songfic about tony moving on and steve being ignorant of his dickery
Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange, past Tony Stark/Steve Rogers
Comments: 7
Kudos: 149





	sorry

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first work so I'm pretty nervous, but people on the internet told me to post so I guess that's what's happening. it's very short and half of it is the song but eh
> 
> thanks for reading!

_ I've missed your calls for months it seems _

_ Don't realise how mean I can be _

“It’s better this way.” He said it out loud, the ringing phone drowning out his words, in an attempt to convince himself. Another part of him, the selfish part, wanted to pick up the phone that kept ringing, once a month, like clockwork, and speak to the one person he wanted to speak to the most. And today… today it was  _ his _ birthday, a time they would have been celebrating. Instead… 

The phone stopped, and, though he knew he shouldn’t, he played the voicemail.

Tony’s voice came through, cracked and broken. “Steve. Please, just talk to me.”

Tears threatened his eyes, but he blinked them away. He supposed that was why he had sent the phone in the first place, along with the letter; so that they could talk. But when Tony had started calling, he couldn’t bring himself to answer. And in the voicemails, he was so… upset. Distraught. After all that had happened between them, their relationship seemed unsalvageable. So he didn’t answer, because he thought that the second he heard Tony’s voice, he would come running back, and it would again end in pieces.

_ 'Cause I can sometimes treat the people _

_ That I love like  _ _jewellery_

A month later, Tony didn’t call.

Six months after, not a peep.

“It’s better this way.”

_ 'Cause I can change my mind each day _

_ I didn't mean to try you on _

_ But I still know your birthday _

_ And your mother's favourite song _

A year after Tony stopped calling, Steve broke down. His fingers shook as he pressed  _ call _ , his breath uneven and eyesight blurry.

It rang. Rang. Kept ringing, until the phone beeped to record a message. His voice shook as he whispered, “Happy birthday, Tony.”

He fell asleep with his eyes puffy and face salty. Later that night, a single text:

_ You bastard. _

He put the phone away for a long time after that.

* * *

He remembered meeting Tony, despising him. How quickly that had turned around; every mission had him falling harder. He remembered asking him out, being so nervous, standing in the doorway with a bouquet of roses and a jittery smile. He remembered all the mornings of waking up next to him, watching him sleep, or bringing him coffee. He remembered the lovemaking, soft and passionate. He remembered everything, replayed it in his mind each and every night as he fell asleep; and he apologised, over and over again.

Most days he couldn’t believe the turn of events. It felt like a nightmare; like at any minute, he would wake up in strong arms, staring into chocolate eyes. He wanted to go back to the way it used to be. He wanted Saturday dates, teasing from the team, dancing to music only they could hear in the middle of Tony’s lab. Instead, he lived on the move, watching Tony in the news and just  _ wishing _ he could be there with him.

He saw them in the paper. Tony,  _ his _ Tony on the arm of that surgeon, Strange. He scoffed, hiding his hurt from Bucky, “It’ll never last.” There was only one person for Tony, and no one could ever replace him. He would be back to Tony soon, and everything would go back to the way it was. Every night, he had dwelled on how he might apologise. That night, he didn’t think he needed to.

_ And so it seems I broke your heart _

_ My ignorance has struck again _

_ I failed to see it from the start _

_ And tore you open 'til the end _

He listened to the old voicemails sometimes. Listened to Tony’s heartbreak. He liked to imagine that they were recent; that the photos of him with another man were fake, and Tony was waiting for him.

He saw Tony showing off a silver band on his finger.

The phone crushed in his hand.

* * *

Something had been worked out. He didn’t know what, exactly; an adjustment to the Accords, maybe. Natasha had handled the politics. All he knew was that he would see Tony again. He would see Tony, and everything would fall into place.

* * *

The Quinjet landed at the new Avengers headquarters. Steve looked out, waiting to see brown locks and reflective sunglasses, but saw nothing but workers in the same uniform, directing operations. When his team walked in, Tony was still nowhere to be found. He was directed to his quarters and resolved to find Tony the next morning

After a night’s sleep, he got directions to Tony’s room, and knocked on the door, expecting, maybe not a wide smile and open arms, but an ear willing to listen to his explanations, his apologies. Instead, there was no answer. He knocked again, and again, each minute, until the door finally opened to an irritable-looking raven-haired man in pyjamas. Strange.

“Hello, Doctor,” he said politely. “Is Tony here?”

Strange quirked an eyebrow. “He is not. Can I take a message?”

“Actually, it’s rather personal. I really need to talk to him.”

  
The doctor’s jaw tensed. “Yes, well, Tony would  _ rather _ not, so if you could nicely fu—”

“I’m here, I’m here.” Tony appeared, eyes bleary and hair mussed, but still beautiful. His mouth was drawn in a thin line. “What is it, Steve?”

Steve kept his eyes on the brown ones. “Um, it’s actually—”

“Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of Stephen. My  _ fiancé _ .” Tony threaded his fingers through Strange’s.

Steve was… surprised. He had thought the engagement was a media ploy, a distraction. “I—You’re not… serious?”

Tony fixed him with a hard gaze. “I am perfectly serious. You seem to forget that _you’re_ the one that left. And _you’re_ the one who didn’t pick up the phone." Steve looked away in shame, tears prickling in his eyes. He remembered letting the phone ring and ring and ring... but surely Tony was one to understand that it can take longer than you'd expect to get your shit together.

"I did call," Steve protested, his throat constricting. "But—"

"Oh, don't give me that shit." Tony's voice was tight, his eyes narrowed. Steve remembered days when those doe eyes looked at him lovingly; now they seemed to be full of anger and masked hurt. "I made mistakes, but you just  _ kept _ making them, so many that I’m not sure they were really mistakes. I got tired of you toying with me, so I moved on. If you can’t accept that, it’s your problem. Take it up with Ross if you want to move out, but you can’t waltz in here after everything you did and expect your old life back.”

Steve was speechless. The men across from him both had their steely gazes on him, daring him to argue. He decided not to give them the satisfaction of a reply, and walked back to his room, doing all in his power not to let his tears run before he made it there.

_ And someone will love you _

_ Someone will love you _

_ Someone will love you _

The next time he saw them was at a gala for some charity or another. The two were dancing on the floor below him. They looked like how he and Tony used to. Happy. God, what he would have given to be there with Tony. To love him, to be loved by him, to be happy. Tony had made it clear that would never happen, but a man could dream. He dreamed of his face instead of Strange’s. He dreamed of having answered the phone. He dreamed of having not left Tony in Siberia, of not having disagreed with him in the first place. He dreamed of being in love, because he feared of never having that again. Most of all, he dreamed of Tony. His Tony. _His_ Tony.

_ But someone isn't me _

**Author's Note:**

> halsey is amazing don't even fuck with me about that


End file.
